Chapter 3

LEILA

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A thick gulp went down my throat, the hard slurping sound slipping into my ears. Thousands of words burned on my tongue. I could utter none. Not with Annette’s words echoing at the back of my mind.

Squeezing the gown into my hands, I  rose to my feet and began heading to the bathroom when Damien’s voice stopped me—midway.

“Where are you going?”

I turned. “To change. Obviously.”

“You can change here,” he said, so casually.

My eyes bulged wide. “In front of you?”

Damien leaned against the door frame, arm crossed across his chest and a faint smirk tugged at his lips.  “We showered together when we were younger.” His voice came out low—lazy.

The air in my lungs stilled as the memory hit me.  The two of us, years ago, slipping into the shower like it meant nothing. Clothes flying off without a thought. A care. Damien was smaller then—smaller than me. So short for his age that he barely reached my shoulders. His body was small—too small.

Now, he was something else.

I stared at him, the way he stood there, his broad shoulders taking up the space, tall enough that I had to tip my chin up if I were to ever see his eyes.

How… How did that small, quiet boy turn into this? How did he turn into someone so dominative, and commanding? Someone whose presence pressed down on my chest. Thick and suffocating.

Finally, a faint scoff. “We stopped showering together when I turned ten.” I was bold enough to cock my hips. “Besides we aren’t kids anymore—we are full-blown adults.”

Damien rolled his eyes. It was charming—too charming. My inside twisted—it wasn’t ugly. But I wouldn’t dare call it beautiful.  

“Do whatever you want?”

Inside the bathroom, I  didn’t stop moving. I grabbed the shirt and yanked it over my head and my hand fumbled with my hair, arranging the black strands.

When I stepped out, his gaze meandered over me. Slow.  First, my face, it dropped to my shoulders, tracing my collarbone. His eyes journeyed lower, past the short hem of the dress that ended a few inches beneath my ass, gulping in my legs, before he dragged it back up.

The intensity seared over my skin and my breath fluttered in my lungs.

Like he could see my internal reaction, A smile built on his lips. “Let’s go.”

I stood still.

“What? Leila.” My name rolled off his tongue. Too smooth. To velvety.

“I…” I wrapped my hands around my stomach. “I can’t go out like this.”

The dress was too skimpy. I felt exposed. I was exposed. Stepping outside and walking next to him was unthinkable. Unimaginable.

His thick brows arched.

He stepped forward. One slow step. Another slow step.  As he closed the space between us, I held my breath.  But somehow, his musky scent still found a way to filter into my lungs.

Damien slinked his head down, too down, a mere inches away from my face. His breath ghosted against my skin.  And for a moment the air charged.

His expression—not a smile, not a frown. “Do you think you have a choice?”

My chest tightened.

He straightened his spine, dug his hand back into his pocket, and strutted to the door.

I swallowed and followed behind him.

**********

The twenty-minute drive was silent—heavily uncomfortable. The car came to a stop before a large building— a club.

Immediately we stepped out the cold air locked at my skin. I pulled at the hem of the gown. I needed it to be longer. If only I could make myself smaller.

 A cold gasp escaped me, and I crossed my hand around me, trying to form a barrier against the chill of the night.

Then came warmth. A coat draped over my shoulders—Damien’s coat. The scent of him wrapped itself around me, familiar and strange all at once.

Damien didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look at me, he just kept strutting into the club.

Inside the club reeked of alcohol and sweat. The air was thick with the neon lights that bled into the darkness and the loud music.

I stayed close behind him, weaving through the crowd, my body constantly bumping into others. For a moment I lost him and uneasiness settled in my stomach. I bumped into more strangers, then I felt a strong hand around my shoulders.

Damien pulled me close, the warmth of his touch burned through the fabric of his coat and settled in my skin. The unbidden warmth journeyed and teased my chest.

I shouldn’t be feeling this way.  

I shook off my thoughts and followed him out of the crowded space, leading down a hallway, the faint red neon light blending with the darkness.

At the end of the hall, he pushed the door and we entered inside. When the door clicked shut, the loud sound was replaced with a faint hum.

Red leather chairs lined the pitch-black walls. And at the center was a stage with a pole. My breath hitched.

This wasn’t what I thought it was right? My fingers curled at my side. When he had said I would work,  I had thought he meant cleaning, bartending, something of some sort.

Damien plopped onto one of the sofas, the neon light casting shadows across his sharp features. His greys appeared pitch black. Was it the light or was it something else?

“Climb the stage,” Damien ordered, stretching his hand on the sofa. 

I remained still, My hands clamming by my side and my heart thrumming in my chest.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” Damien's voice dropped—low and cold—spiking fear and something unbidden in me.

With a slow gait, I headed to the pole. I could feel his gaze on me, the intensity like a fire burning me alive.  

When I climbed the stage brimming with white light, one that highlighted every feature on my face—every curve on my body—a satisfying smile burnt on his lips.

Those darkened, hungry, grey eyes lingered on me like they had begun stripping me naked. And my breath coiled in my lungs.

His words hit the air, heavy. “Strip.”

My stomach dropped.